


Charmed

by rnadison



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Murphy-centric, bellamy is a history teacher, more about the imperfections of their life together really, murphy's basically a blogging housewife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:51:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6505621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rnadison/pseuds/rnadison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We were married in a courthouse, so it wasn’t a very formal affair. Minutes after the ceremony Bellamy found a stranger in the courthouse hall and asked her to take our picture. Unbeknownst to us at the time, there was a soda machine behind us and a very thirsty man. Our official wedding photo has three people in it: two of them are smiling, the other is drinking a Diet Coke.<br/>--------- </p><p>Murphy starts a blog about his married life with Bellamy. Hilarity shall ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January

_ January _

I’ll start things off by saying that my name isn’t Murphy -- it’s John. It feels weird to write that, or to even see my actual name written somewhere. If I (God forbid) run into someone from high school, and they say, ‘Hey, John!’ I probably won’t even turn around.

The truth is, I feel like I’ve always gone by Murphy. In the first grade there was another John in my class, and that simply would not do. I didn’t want to leave the rules of distinguishing up to my classmates, who would 9 times out of 10 use adjectives; then I would’ve probably been ‘skinny John’ or ‘white John’ or something, and that was not the labelling I was going for at age six (or ever). I went home and told my parents I was going by Murphy, and that was that.

So imagine my surprise when I met someone named Bellamy Blake. Did you know that it means ‘handsome’ in French? I didn’t, either.  This guy wasn’t fooling around -- he had his labelling done at birth. And he certainly lived up to it. Dark hair, olive skin, freckles -- the works. I was living in New York at the time (I was ambitious once) and he was coming up from Washington, D.C. to observe some lecture at NYU. I hadn’t known back then he was still studying to be a teacher.

His sister was also in New York, living with her boyfriend at the time, Atom (yes, it was spelled that way. No, he was not a science major). She invited me to come meet her  _ very single  _ brother, who hadn’t been in a relationship in a _ very long _ time, hence the  _ very single _ .  I think she may have been trying to match us up. But I said sure; it had to beat sitting alone in the apartment above the coffee shop, watching reruns of  _ Seinfeld. _

And … that was it. One night at an NYU lecture literally changed my life. Phone numbers were exchanged. Less-than-saucy texts were also exchanged. He went back to D.C. I didn’t know that one day, I would follow him.

The other day a friend of mine asked how we ended up getting married. Bellamy and I have been married for two years (almost three), and I have no idea how it happened. It’s embarrassing. I have a ring. I remember the wedding. We had a honeymoon (London, if anyone’s interested). The bill from said honeymoon is etched onto our Visa history forever, but I can’t remember what actually got the ball rolling.

It’s not that I have a bad memory. I remember every detail of our relationship: I remember every place we ate, what I wore, what I spilled on myself, and whether or not it had come out, from our first date onward. I remember the things he’s mumbled in his sleep, so I can use them against him in an argument. I remember every single time he’s introduced me to one of his friends, and how awkward it was, on a scale from 1 to 10.

I mentioned this lack of a proposal to him today at breakfast. He thinks at one point he looked down at his calendar/calculator/microwave watch and said, “I have enough vacation days to use in June.”

“And,” I said, “What did you say after that?”

“I told you I had given you an engagement ring on Christmas Eve.”

This was news to me. “And what did you say when you gave it to me?”

“Here,” he said.

“And what did I say when I opened it?”

“I don’t know. You started to cry and sort of make these heaving noises.”

Now I remember how this happened, and as usual it’s my fault. He had asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I said, “A ring.” So when he got me a ring and said, “Here,” that was it. That was the proposal. That was the special moment. It may not be the proposal most people dream of, but I laughed, I cried, and we’ve been together ever since. It worked for me, and writing this entry has helped me understand why I get weirdly emotional whenever our mailman hands me a package and says, “Here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is honestly such a fun thing to write. Challenging, of course, because I didn't quite know how to capture Murphy's voice in a first-person blog. I did debate on Bellamy doing a ridiculously over-the-top proposal and embarrassing the hell out of Murphy, but then he probably wouldn't have forgotten it as easily. 
> 
> Request things/ say hi to me on tumblr!: bcllamyblaked


	2. February

_ February  _

A few years ago, someone gave me an expensive camera. It had this lens you needed to focus and it needed a certain type of case, and a green light came on if the subject was too close and a red light came on if the subject was a Republican. I ended up not using it; there was just no way I could ever figure out this camera.

I brought it along on our honeymoon, though. The one to London. There are many beautiful things in London, and I took many lovely pictures of them through our tour bus window. Unfortunately, most of the pictures had a tour bus window curtain obscuring all but a small portion of the beautiful things. Bellamy couldn’t believe how bad the pictures were. Fuzzy, crooked, double-exposed. It was like seeing London through the eyes of a drunk. I was very depressed when I saw them, too. I was sure I’d had a much better time.

Lucky for us, Bellamy also brought his camera on our honeymoon. He took pictures of me at Westminster Abbey, and on London Bridge overlooking the Thames. We even set the timer and accidentally took pictures of the furniture in the flat we’d been renting. But then he uploaded the entire drive to his laptop. There were the pictures of me, but then there were pictures of other people I didn’t know, mostly women. I asked him how long he'd had his camera. "Eight years," he said. It then occurred to me that I was looking at his past girlfriends.

I gave Bellamy a new camera for Valentine’s Day, and lately he’s been taking a lot of pictures. I think it’s because he feels guilty about not keeping up with our photo albums. When we first started dating, he was totally on top of things. The first restaurant we ate at? Check. The art museum date? Check. First tux I ever ruined? Double check. 

But I guess later on he got busy, and from then on there are a lot of gaps in our official history. Easter is suddenly followed by Thanksgiving pictures. I think one year, we only had five pictures, maximum. 

I did remember to bring a camera to our wedding. We were married in a courthouse, so it wasn’t a very formal affair. Minutes after the ceremony Bellamy found a stranger in the courthouse hall and asked her to take our picture. Unbeknownst to us at the time, there was a soda machine behind us and a very thirsty man. Our official wedding photo has three people in it: two of them are smiling, the other is drinking a Diet Coke.

I gave Bellamy a very basic, standard digital camera, because Bellamy Blake is the poster child of camera incompetence. Whenever he is handed one he looks at it, goes into a rabid, foaming fit, and bellows, “What do I do, where do I look, what do I push?” It doesn’t matter how you explain it to him. He’ll always end up taking two photos: one of his finger, and one of his stomach. 

  
There are three cameras in our house. We each brought a camera to our marriage, and then there’s the one I just gave him. I can’t find the camera I brought. That’s okay. I think I’ve had my picture-taking privileges taken away from me.


End file.
